


constellations (never tell a goddess her fate)

by dearestpersephone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts First Year, Ron Weasley Bashing, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Hermione Granger, good slytherins but not how you think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23424157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearestpersephone/pseuds/dearestpersephone
Summary: This is not a story about a fairytale girl and a fairytale boy and their fairytale endings. This is a story about wolves, sharp eyes and wild hair. This is a story about a wolf in a peasant girl's clothing, and a wolf in a prince's clothing.Hermione Jean Granger and Harry James Potter can't be things they are not forever.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 22
Kudos: 132





	1. Preface

"when they told her her story was written in the stars,  
she went to the heavens and crushed each one with her bare hands,  
stars have no power over her,  
the night sky is hers now,  
and she will carve it with constellations of her own."

\- [NEVER TELL A GODDESS HER FATE](https://lostcap.tumblr.com/post/131694834248/when-they-told-her-her-story-was-written-in-the) // [K.S.](http://worthystevie.tumblr.com/)


	2. A Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You think I'm not a goddess?  
> Try me.  
> This is a torch song.  
> Touch me and you'll burn.
> 
> \- Margaret Atwood, from Helen of Troy does Countertop Dancing

The girl next to him shows no acknowledgement of his arrival, only continues to turn the pages of her book as Harry sits at the library desk, adding a pile of books next to the stack that rests in front of her. 

“I managed to avoid Dudley again today,” he says softly, for rarely did he ever use a tone of voice above a whisper. 

“I know,” Hermione Granger still does not look up from her book, her eyes scanning line after line, drinking in the words. “You aren’t late today. And anyway,” she pauses as she looks at Harry out of the corner of her eyes, “you only need to say my name and the fat pig will run for the hills.”

Harry laughs quietly, thinking of the last time he had uttered the name  _ Hermione Granger  _ in front of the Dursleys. Vernon had turned the same shade as his beefy mustache, and Petunia had looked like a mess of sticks as she tried to make her bony frame curl in on itself. Dudley had let out a shrill squeak and had thrown a terrified glance around the room, as if saying her name had magically brought her into their living room.

She may be only 10, and yet she has what could be considered full power over his relatives. Not a day went by where he thanked whatever lucky stars he had that she had made friends with him and not his cousin. She was smart,  _ brilliant _ , and to cross her was to take your last breath. Not literally of course, since she was only 10, but still enough that she could get you in some serious trouble. 

The two friends remain in the library until well after four, the time for them to begin their walk home before Hermione was required to be home at five. She always walks him home. Her house was only two streets past, and she liked making sure Harry got home without being tormented by Dudley and his gang. It was simply a bonus if Petunia saw her, turned that sickly shade of green, and darted away from the window. Today was, quite pleasantly, a Bonus Day, and the anthropomorphic giraffe slams the curtain shut as forcefully as she can upon sight of Hermione. Waving goodbye to Harry with a promise to see him at school the next morning, the young Granger continues on.

“Mum, I’m back!” She calls once she’s inside the house, taking her shoes off and hanging her coat in the closet.

“We’re in the parlor, dear.” her mother responds, and Hermione pads into the front room of her home.

Awaiting her, however, is not just her parents, but a tall and formidable looking woman wearing green...  _ things _ that look like they have been stolen right out of one of Hermione’s fairytale books.

The woman stands upon her entrance, holding out her hand for Hermione to shake. “Professor Minerva McGonagall. You must be Hermione.”

Hermione only nods dumbly, utterly confused. She returns the handshake and takes a seat next to her father on the sofa. 

“As I was telling your parents before you arrived, I am a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to which you have been accepted as a student for the upcoming term in September.” the Professor summarizes for Hermione, having clearly been sitting with her parents for some time. Her teacup was nearly empty, sitting plainly on the saucer. 

“Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Hermione says slowly, stealing a look at her parents. “I don’t understand. Magic does not exist outside of  _ books _ .” Who is this, and why do her parents look like they believe her?  _ Magic? _

“Oh, I assure you Miss Granger, Magic is undoubtedly  _ real. _ ” The woman turns to her parents, and gestures with the now empty teacup in her hand.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger, unfortunately having been introduced to the information of their daughter being a  _ witch _ and magic being  _ real _ through their couch cushions becoming  _ crystal goblets _ , sigh out an affirmation. Here it goes again.

“ _ Muscifors.” _ The strange Professor taps the teacup with a wooden  _ stick _ and suddenly, instead of a blue and white teacup from Harrod’s, a white  _ mouse _ lays in her palm. It scurries around her palm, sniffing at the edge of the woman’s fingertips, its little whiskers twitching. A heartbeat passed, and then another, and then another. The mouse turned in circles, seeing if it could leave the cup of the professor’s palm.

Hermione looks like she wants to argue, before pausing, closing before opening her mouth again, and then clamping it shut. “Magic is real.” She says it as if it is a fact, as if she has no other explanation and that this is all she could come up with. And truly, it is.  _ Magic is real. It’s not just something in fairytales. _

“Yes, precisely,” McGonagall smiles, “and you are a witch. You will be able to do these spells as well in time.  _ Finite Incantatem.” _ The mouse turns back into the teacup with a tap of her stick, no, her  _ wand _ . 

Hermione wonders if the teacup remembers being a mouse, or if the mouse remembered being a teacup.

She stares at the Professor, torn between the side of her mind that screams that his woman in green was  _ absolutely mad _ and the other part that whispers that what she said is  _ true _ , that all those weird instances from her childhood had not been her imagination, but  _ magic. _

“The books used to fly off the shelves.” She whispers without thinking, her eyes locked on the teacup-that-used-to-be-a-mouse.  _ Such a Ravenclaw, _ McGonagall thinks to herself,  _ making books fly. _

“Yes, accidental magic. Things floating, changing size or color, such things like these are indicators that a child has magical ability.” The Professor explains.

“Your books used to  _ fly? _ ” Clearly, this is not Mr. Granger’s best afternoon.

“If they were too high to reach they would sort of float down to me.” Hermione says weakly.”Mum was there that time the toy across the room was in my hands without me having actually moved.”

“Not uncommon in our world at all.” McGonagall smiles, and stands. “I’m afraid that I must be leaving now. I hope that you will think over the information I have given you. We await your answer no later than July 31st.”

Hermione slides off the couch in an instant. “I’ll show you out.”

As McGonagall stands on the doorstep about to leave, Hermione speaks. “Professor,” she says hesitantly, eyes darting around, “There are more like me right? Children from people who can’t do magic.”

“Of course. You are not in any way alone, Miss Granger.”

She looks up at the professor. “There’s a friend of mine, he does these things too. The magic, I mean. It’s different of course, what he does though. He ended up on the school roof once, and appeared in my garden after being caught by some bullies.”

“There is another in your neighborhood.” McGonagall admits, staring worriedly down at Hermione. “I however, cannot tell you their name for privacy reasons.”

She grins up at her future professor. “Don’t worry, Professor. I already know it’s him. I just wanted to check.”

_ Slytherin, this girl _ , McGonagall thinks instantly, never having been so sure of anything in her entire life.


	3. A Choice Is Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she’s the girl with a  
> fairytale face  
> but her mouth screams  
> like a wolf’s  
> \- words of the consultant, minjeong son

When they meet up the next afternoon after school was let out for the year, Hermione leans conspiringly over the table. Harry knows that look. Her hair is wild around her face, held barely back with a headband.

“There’s a boarding school, up in Scotland. I found out about it yesterday when one of the Professors came to my house.” She looks up quickly, making sure no one is within earshot. “It’s for people like _us_ , Harry. People who can do _things.”_

Harry looks at her, confused. “People who can read a lot?”

“ _Magic,_ Harry.” She rolls her eyes, “Like your hair growing back when your aunt shaves it. You landing in my garden when Dudley chased you. Books floating down when they’re too high for me to reach.”

Harry so desperately wants to laugh and say she is lying. But his hair does grow back perfectly into the rat’s nest it usually is overnight whenever his Aunt Petunia gets so fed up with it that she shaves it patchy and near bald. He’s landed in Hermione’s garden, on her roof, the school’s roof, the top of the football goal post, and many other things being chased by Dudley. He’s seen the books float down to her. They’d done that for him too. It was absurd to think that _magic could be real._ But it was also absurd to think it _couldn’t_. And this was Hermione Granger. She didn’t lie to him. Not ever.

“Okay,” Harry says, “Okay.”

“There are _more_ of us, Harry. We’re called witches and wizards and there are _whole societies._ The professor left my parents with some pamphlets. Made of _parchment_ might I add.” Here, her voice is hard. “We’re 11, Harry. Or, almost for you anyway. Most people know when they’re born because their parents are magic. But us? Ours are not, so we know _now_ . We get _left behind_ until we go to Hogwarts. Our names appear on this book they have when we’re born that says we’re magic. They’ve always known who we were.”

 _Left behind_. Harry had always been left behind before he met Hermione. Left behind by his parents when they died, left behind by any friends he made when they found out about Dudley, left behind by his aunt & uncle because Dudley was better and he was a no-good, rotten, child of drunks they got stuck with. But this society, this place that was supposed to be theirs by birth, by the very fact of being magic, had left them behind for 11 years.

“I’m tired of being left behind.” Harry’s heart is quiet and cold. _Left behind_.

“I haven’t gotten a visit, or anything.” He says, staring at the table now, processing.

“The pamphlet says it’s the summer when you’re 11. The train leaves September first. Your birthday is in a few weeks, so you should be getting yours soon. My parents are taking me to their shopping district this weekend to get my books.”

A few weeks. Harry just has to wait a few weeks and then he will get his own visit. He can do that. He can wait.

He waits as Hermione comes back from her shopping trip laden down with her required books and anything else she managed to convince her parents to buy. They spend hours in her front parlor, pouring over _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ , by Miranda Goshawk, _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger, and _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch. The book that matters the most to them, they soon find out, is a slim volume Hermione’s parents had actually picked out: _Notable Wizards and Witches of the 20_ _th_ _Century_ by Bathilda Bagshot.

A slim volume, that contains an entire chapter on one _Harry James Potter_ . They stare together at the book laid out spread on the table, transfixed on _Chapter 11: Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived_.

In sixteen pages, everything Harry Potter has ever known comes crashing down about his ears. He’s not Muggleborn like Hermione, not like they’d assumed. His dad was a wizard. His mom was a witch. _His mom was a witch and his aunt knew_ . _His mom was a witch and his aunt knew she had been murdered and she’d lied to him_.

Everything, everything in this moment, makes _sense_ . Why Petunia hates him. Why she never told him stories about his mom and dad. Why Harry has this awful scar that burns him some nights when his nightmares are bad and all he sees are flashes of green light and hears the screams of a woman. The screams of his _mother_ as she was _murdered_ protecting him.

Hermione, across the table, watches Harry read the chapter, all sixteen pages, his eyes growing darker and harder with every word. This is the face of a boy who’s been lied to. This is the face of a boy who knows that there is no salvation in this Wizarding World like they thought. Not with what the last passage contains.

> _Harry Potter now resides with the family of his Muggleborn mother, placed in their loving care by Albus Dumbledore. The world eagerly awaits his admission to Hogwarts in the coming years._

Somewhere out there, there was a man, a man named Albus Dumbledore who _knew where he was_. Knew what was _happening_.

“Hermione.” Harry meets her expectant eye over the table. “They _knew_. They’ve _known_.”

“They have."

“They _left me behind_ to my aunt and uncle. Left me to get beaten like a _dog_ . Left me to live in a _cupboard_ . People have shaken my hand on the street for no reason before. This is why. They knew who I was. They knew I was living with…with, with _Muggles.’”_ He stutters over the end, his anger rising like a volcano Hermione knows has been building for 10 years, and is getting ready to explode.

“We can’t change the past.” Hermione pulls away the book from his hands, piling on the first year readings, “But we can change the future. We can become the best and the brightest. We can make sure this doesn’t happen to anyone else. No one gets left behind. Not you, not me, not any other Muggleborn. We deserve to know that world just as well as everyone else.”

Harry clutches at the books in his hands, stares into the gilded letters of the title of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. “You really think we can do it?”

Harry looks at Hermione, really looks at her for the first time in a while. Her naturally wavy hair is frizzy around her head, and she’s leaning forward in her seat, hands braced against the edge and feet barely scraping the floor. Her eyes are alight, and she looks to Harry like a crazed fanatic. A _brilliant_ , crazed fanatic. 

“We have magic Harry. We can do _anything."_

She is right. They have magic, what did the Dursley's have? In seven years he can be free of them, and though seven years seems like a short time, it isn’t. He has seven years to change everything, to become better than fat old Uncle Vernon and nutty Aunt Petunia and piggy little Dudley. He is inherently better, but as Hermione had told him once before, natural talent only gets you halfway, you have to work for the other 50%. And learning magic? That doesn’t sound like hard work at all. It sounds more like _fun._

“Okay,” He says, “okay. Where do we start?”

They spent the next two weeks like this, meeting up every afternoon, pouring over Hermione’s supplies, convincing her parents on a second trip to pick up more books before Hogwarts starts on September 1st. Studying the magical herbs, practicing wand motions for Transfiguration. Everyone else had had years to study. They had _weeks_ . If they wanted to be just as good, no, _better_ , they had a lot of work to get done.


	4. Chapter Four: A Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Devil merely smiled, mouth full of shards of broken glass, with icy stars in his eyes  
> and asked her where she was going  
> and if she had room for another weary traveler.  
> -Azona- (thedeadanonpoetssociety.tumblr.com)

Harry makes it all the way through the entire fiasco of getting his own letter and his aunt and uncle’s meltdown, and oh god, there’s so much he has to tell Hermione when he sees her next because they sent him the bloody  _ groundskeeper, _ before he gets stuck. He gets stuck on the platform at Kings Cross because he’d just been dumped with no real instructions other than “Platform 9 3/4.”, as if that was supposed to help. He wanders about the platform for Rails 9 and 10, eyes shifting over the normal commuters, and partially wondering why none of them balk at the whole, real life,  _ snowy owl _ in a cage on his trolley. Hedwig had been an unexpected, but thoroughly welcome, gift from Hagrid.

He’s leaning up against one of the columns, staring at the letter in his hand, and trying not to be nervous about the time running out to reach the platform. Hermione would absolutely  _ destroy _ him if he missed the train, and he didn’t know if he would even be able to go to Hogwarts anymore if he did. 

“Come now, Draco, don’t mind the Muggles!” A sharp voice rings across the platform, and Harry looks up at the familiar wizarding term. “We’re almost at the platform.”

A family of three, well dressed and startling blonde, move through the crowd towards him. The boy is about his age, and he wonders if this is his first year as well. He pushes off the column, and watches as they draw closer, moving his trolley close behind. They pause in the gap between two, and the lady leans down to brush at her son's robes. The boy makes a face and swats at her hand, and the boy’s father laughs. “Let him be, Narcissa. You’re more nervous than he is.”

“Oh, hush.” She tuts back, but a smile tugs at her lips.

_ Is this what having a family is like? _ Harry shakes it from his head, moving up closer to them. 

“Excuse me, ma’am.” He says softly, “But I was wondering, how do you, uh…” He gestures blindy to Hedwig, and his things.

“First time at Hogwarts?” The man asks, looking at him, something odd pulling at his face, almost like he recognizes him. Harry smoothes down his hair over his forehead, an unconscious habit to hide his awful scar.

He doesn’t say anything, only, “Draco as well. It’s just through here.” and steps  _ into the wall _ and disappears. 

The woman tries to hold it back, but she laughs at the completely gobsmacked look on Harry’s face.  _ That man walked through the wall. _

“It’s best to get a bit of a running start for the first time,” she says and pushes her son a little bit to run through the wall ( _ through the wall?) _ himself. 

The boy holds onto the cart rails and picks up a little bit of speed before also disappearing into the brick.

She gestures to the wall for Harry to do it himself, smiling “Go on, I’ll follow behind.”

Harry runs at the wall. Harry runs at the wall and then  _ goes through it _ . 

The other side is still Kings Cross, but now they’re a massive, red and black locomotive on the rails, and other people milling about with trunks and owls and wizarding robes.

Draco is waiting on the other side next to his father already, and he matches Harry’s wide, awe filled grin. “It’s brilliant, isn’t it? Getting to go to Hogwarts.”

“It’s incredible.” Harry doesn’t think  _ incredible _ quiet covers what he really feels on the subject. 

Draco’s mother follows through behind him, and moves to stand with the rest of her family. Harry thanks them, and moves off towards the train to find Hermione. 

He finds her a little while later, once the train has already left the station, sitting alone in a compartment, feet propped up on her trunk because she couldn’t get it up on the shelf alone. They heave their trunks up, and settle in, pulling out the new books Hermione had gotten on her last trip to Diagon Alley. He tells her about getting swept out to the rock when his letters wouldn’t stop, and Dudley getting gifted a pig’s tail. He has to pause his story here because both children burst out into uncontrolled laughter, Harry dancing around the compartment reenacting the scene in great and dramatic detail. He tells her about how Hagrid got sent to pick him up, and Hermione is horrified and confused at the fact that  _ she _ got a professor, but  _ he _ got the groundskeeper. He was  _ Harry Potter _ and he got sent the groundskeeper. A perfectly lovely fellow apparently, but it just didn’t make any sense.

“I’ve been reading about the castle,” she says, watching the English countryside race past. “It’s fascinating really. At least a thousand years old, and Muggles can’t find it at all.” Her eyes glinted as she turned to Harry. “No Dursleys for a year.”

Harry cracked his own grin at Hermione. 

“They sort us somehow, the book didn’t say. But we go into one of four Houses: Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin. We’re apparently sorted based on the traits we value most. Hufflepuff is for those who are kind and hardworking.” She snorted a bit at that, thinking of all the times she had taken revenge on Dudley Dursley. She wouldn’t exactly call herself kind or anything.

“You go to Ravenclaw if you like wisdom and learning and such. I quite like the sound of that, really. Can you imagine? We’d be in a group of people who like to learn, we would learn so much about magic and this entire world we never knew about.”

Harry shrugged, he wasn’t sure if he would really fit into that house. Hermione certainly, she was a shoe-in if he’d ever met one. But him? So far, he was more likely for Hufflepuff.

“Gryffindor, they sound overrated to be honest. Bravery, chivalry? Like knights, wouldn’t you say?”

“I think it would be cool to be known for your bravery.”

“True. But the books made it sound like they were kings and queens over everything! Reminds me of Dudley, thinking he’s better than us.” Hermione sighed. 

Harry grimaced. He didn’t want to be in a house full of Dudley Durselys at all. “He’s not better. We have magic,” he says, repeating her own words back to her, the things she’d told him when he’d first found out just exactly who he was, “We can do  _ anything. _ ” 

He wants to change the world. He doesn’t want anyone else to get left behind. 

“Anything.” Hermione confirms, and Harry grins at her. 

“And the last house? You said only three of four.”

Her eyes glitter. “Slytherin. Favours determination and ambition and cleverness. Somewhere I think we might fit in. You’re determined to get away from the Dursleys. I’m clever. We’re both,” she tilts her head back, back of her hand to her forehead, “terribly,  _ dramatically _ , ambitious.” 

She holds the pose for a half beat, and then the two dissolve into laughter. Oh, how right their teachers had been. 

“Sounds good to me,” he answers and the compartment opens and both Hermione and Harry’s heads swivel to the doors and to a tall, thin redhead.

“I heard Harry Potter is on board!” He says loudly, spittle flying with every word. “I’ve checked every compartment, but he’s not here!” 

Hermione side-eyes her friend, and looks back at the redhead. “Sorry, he’s not here. I think I saw him move towards the front though, a little while ago.”

The redhead looks delighted. “Really? Thanks!” He speeds off.

Harry turns to Hermione after the boy disappears off down the hall of the train carriage. “Who was that?”

Hermione sighs. “Ron Weasley, if I’m not wrong. I ran into his brothers when I got on the train. Two redhead twins mentioned something about ‘Ickle Ronniekins’ running around looking for Harry Potter. So…” She shrugs, gesturing loosely. 

The sound of the compartment door opening once again draws their attention away from the discussion on the redhead boys. 

“Anything off the trolley, dears?”

Harry and Hermione, both having grown up as Muggles and never having seen Wizarding candy before, stare apprehensively at the assortment of sweets.

“My parents wouldn’t want me to have so much sugar,” Hermione says weakly.

Harry gives her a wicked grin, dropping a handful of coins into the trolley lady’s waiting palm as he takes a bit of everything off the cart. “Well, it's a good thing they aren't here then, isn’t it?”

Hermione doesn’t answer, only stares as Harry drops the candy on the table. “I really shouldn’t.”

“Best way to start learning about the Wizarding World is seeing what they eat.” He points out. Most people thought that Harry wasn’t as smart as Hermione.In truth, he was just quieter. Hermione had a bit of a penchant for the spotlight.

She laughs at that, “Well, when you put it that way...”

The chocolate frogs are rather odd, and Bertie Botts is a source of endless wonder for the two of them, except for the  _ earwax _ of course. That they could have done without. The pumpkin pasties were gone too fast for their liking, however. Hermione feels a little bit rebellious, can hear her parents’s reprimands about sugar in her ear. But this is  _ wizarding candy _ and they’re not here, not for the rest of the year, and so yes, she rather thinks she’ll keep eating the brilliantly colored treats.

They catch up with each other and all the things Harry had learned about his family and the Wizarding world. To find out that he had a whole vault filled with money was a bitch of a shock to both of them. The train ride ends soon enough however, and the two push their way off the locomotive into the throng of black clad students, instructed to leave behind their luggage. It would make its way to their dormitory separately. 

"Firs' years! Firs' years," a loud, booming voice called out above the chatter of the students on the platform, and Harry tugs on Hermione's sleeve to pull her with him as he moves towards the voice. Hermione cranes her next to stare at the massive man in front of her. 

"That's Hagrid. He picked me up from the Dursleys," Harry informs Hermione, and a blond boy's head snaps towards the duo.

"We meet again." He grins.

"Hello. I never did find out your name in the shop," Harry says, smiling at the first new person his age that he’d met in the Wizarding world.

"Draco Malfoy, pleased to meet you." The boy sticks out his hand and Harry shakes it.

"I'm Harry Potter. This is Hermione Granger." He gestures to his best friend, who awkwardly finds herself reaching out to take Draco’s hand as well, only to find him frozen, and still clutching Harry.

Draco looks absolutely taken aback to find out that the lone boy his family had helped reach the platform earlier that morning was the Boy Who Lived. He shares side eye glances with the two hulking boys flanking him.

Hermione pokes Draco in the arm. "Don't make a big deal of it. We already had one person terrorize us about Harry Potter."

Harry snorts. "I wouldn't call that terrorizing," he said.

Draco, thankfully, recovers quickly enough. "It's nice to meet you, Hermione." He says, letting go of Harry. 

Draco gestures to his friends. "This is Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle."

The boys mutter hello, still staring at Harry. All of the first years have gathered around Hagrid by now, and he booms out, "Well, all you here? Let's go!"

The giant man leads them down a path, a twisting winding thing down to a lake. "Four to a boat!"

Draco offers a hand to Hermione, and the two manage to not have the boat tip over as Harry scrambles in. A small, pointy girl climbs in, elbowing Goyle out of the way. The boy shrugs, and he and Crabbe go off in search of another boat.

Draco nods to her, "Parkinson."

The girl grins in the darkness. "Hello, Malfoy."

"E'vrybody in? Alright, let's _ GO _ !" With that, the boats lurch forward over the lake.

Hermione and Harry are in astounded wonder. The sky above the lake is absolutely  _ gorgeous _ . Stars twinkle above the landscape and, if given the chance, could probably list every last constellation in the sky. Everything was so  _ clear _ . She'd never seen anything like it. She was absolutely thrilled over the prospect of Astronomy class. 

Then the boats round the corner. Towering above the lake and the students all in the little boats stands Hogwarts Castle, balancing upon a hilltop, towers and courtyards and halls of wonder glittering with light. Nothing could have truly prepared Hermione for the sight in front of her, and as she turned to Harry beside her, she realizes that even talking to Professor McGonagall and seeing a mouse turn into a teacup and back again, and even reading all those books, hadn’t even scratched the surface of what magic was.

"It’s  _ beautiful _ ," Hermione whispers.

Draco grins, staring up at the towers, their windows shining so bright they looked like they were on fire. "It really is."

The boats slide up to the shore, and Hermione tumbles out, helping to pull the Parkinson girl and Harry out as well. Hagrid leads the star-struck group of children up to a massive oak door, and bangs a knock. It creaks open to reveal a stern witch in green robes. A _ very familiar _ stern witch in green robes.

"That’s Professor McGonagall. She's the one who told my parents." She whispers to Harry.

Harry sneers. "I got the groundskeeper and you got an actual professor to tell you about magic. Interesting."

"That’s not right." The young witch remarks. "Why would they send the groundskeeper to fetch their golden boy?"

Harry moves to suggest an answer, but is interrupted by the professor ushering all the students inside, and launching into a lecture about the four houses and what to expect with the sorting. He only half pays attention to her spiel. Harry and Hermione had already decided where they were going. It didn’t matter what she said about them, the choice was made.

Not far away, the same obnoxious redhead was babbling on about what his brothers had said the sorting would be, freaking out some nearby girls. 

"Do you really think it’s a  _ troll? _ " Harry asks

Hermione snorts. "As if. Who makes an 11 year old, who doesn't know any magic yet, fight a magical beast? That's ridiculous. It's probably some sort of quiz we have to do."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure to get in Slytherin." Draco smirks. "My whole family has been in it."

The redhead Weasley boy whips around the sound of the word 'Slytherin'. "Ew," He sneers, "Who would want to join a House full of a bunch of  _ evil snakes? _ "

Draco, though physically shorter than the other boy, manages to somehow seem like he is looking down his nose upon him.

"Red hair, hand-me-down robes? You  _ must _ be a Weasley."

"Blonde hair, permanent sneer,  _ you _ must be a Malfoy."

Draco grins, a smug one that could only have been perfected through either innate ability or several hours in the mirror. "It's good that you know your betters, Weasley."

Weasley turns violently red and opens his mouth to retaliate but is cut off by the re-entry of Professor McGonagall to the top of the stairs. "The Sorting will now begin. When I call your name, please move forward and sit on the stool." 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! The rating on this will change, but for now it's T+ because they're 11 lol. This is a rewrite of my previous work Constellations!


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